The Four Mortals
by Striker1246
Summary: The survivors weren't always fighting for survival; the once had goals, dreams, friends, and lovers. The infection shattered everything.
1. Introduction

**3/9/09 UPDATE: So for those of you seeing this story for the first time, welcome. My goal with it is to provide some extensive back-story for the four principle characters, as well as to create an awesome version of the zombie apocalypse. Please at least read the introduction and chapter 3 if you are unsure as to whether or not you want to read the whole thing; but if you couldn't care less about the back-story and just want to get to the downfall of humanity, just skip to chapter 6. Most importantly please, please, please review, feedback makes my poor little soul tingle with happiness.**

It was the end of a hot day in downtown DC, the setting sun baking the tarmac. The Mall, usually packed with tourists heading back to their hotels, was almost empty. Only a few people remained at the Lincoln memorial, taking a few final pictures of the brilliant sunset before escaping in to the metro. One figure, lounging on the steps of the memorial, quietly smoked a cigarette and stared out over the reflecting pool. He was dressed in a worn, olive green uniform, devoid of decoration save for an American flag patch sewed to the shoulder. On his shorn white hair, he wore a beret the same color as the uniform. He continued to gaze out over the Mall as the sun continued to set, lights flickering to life along the reflection pool and in the memorial.

A lone figure came jogging along the side of the pool. She was a collage student, dressed in shorts and a Georgetown tee, with her hair tied in a neat ponytail. She reached the stairs of the memorial and took a long drink from a water bottle. She sat a few feet away from the veteran, occasionally glancing at him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound coming from the old man as he lit a second cigarette. Finally, the girl turned to the man;

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?" The veteran grunted in reply.

"I've seen you out here a lot when I go running. I- I'm Zoe." The man turned, and, with the look of one resigned to a conversation replied:

"Bill. Do you run for a team?"

"I run cross country for Georgetown."

"Hmm." He stared out over the Mall and took a long drag from the cigarette. "How long do you got to run for that? Two miles, three?"

"Five K." she too looks out over the mall, pausing to look over at the Vietnam memorial. "I- I don't want to seem… prying, or anything, but- I always see you out here, all alone, usually wearing that uniform. Do you- live somewhere? I know someone at the Washington VA, and they could set you up with an apartment…"

The old man chuckled softly,

"Don't worry kid. I have a place to live, and more then enough money to own other clothes. I just feel more comfortable sitting at this beautiful little spot in these fatigues then I do sitting home in sweats. Thanks for asking though. I know many of my old friends aren't doing as well I am."

A look of embarrassment flashed over Zoey's face.

"Oh well good, I was just afraid you were homeless, or- or something." She said haltingly. "Ill just get going-"

Bill smiled; "It was good to meet you Zoey, really. Don't be a stranger."

Zoey laughed in a slightly relieved tone "Ok then, I'll- I'll see you later"

She got up and quickly took off into the rapidly gathering dusk. Bill chuckled again as he watched her go, then took another long drag of his cigarette. As his eyes wandered over the mall, they came to rest, as Zoey's had, on the Vietnam memorial. He looked at emptily if for what seemed like hours, his mind taking him to another time. Finally, as the moon began to creep into the sky, he got up and, with a sigh, walked off toward the metro.


	2. Chapter 1: The White Collar

Chapter 1: The White Collar

Louis awoke to the incessant shrill of his alarm clock. With a groan, he got up and stumbled over to the clock. It read five am. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and went to into the bathroom, bringing along a white button-down shirt, red tie, black slacks and dress shoes.

Louis failed to be the stereotype of the tough, boozed up black man that many people assumed he fit. Louis had grown up in one of the poorest sections of the Bronx. But unlike many of his friends that had turned to crime, he had worked his tail off in high school, and had managed to get a scholarship to Harvard Law. At law school, he found an interest in hunting, and, while he never was able to get the hang of conventional hunting rifles and pistols, distinguished himself in shotgun competitions, earning him several trophies and medals.

After graduating collage, he had moved to DC with hopes of pursuing a political career. Sadly, unlike Boston, where bigotry was something that was rarely a major issue, Louis encountered racism at almost every job he applied for. He had finally landed a fair paying lob as an intern for an up and coming law firm. He quickly realized that had been selected more for his experience with firearms then anything else, as one of the partners of the firm loved to go hunting and would often ask Louis to help him with his shotgun shooting. Even so, the job was far from easy. Louis had to be in the office by six so that he could organize all of the emails and faxes that had come in during the previous evening.

Louis was showered, dressed, shaved and out of the door by five thirty sharp, briskly walking to the metro to catch the five forty train. From there he would get off at Lincoln central and quickly jog over to the office, always arriving with exactly three minutes to spare.

Louis' morning was also in a well set pattern. At seven the first partner, Robert Johnson, would arrive, going straight to his office to begin case work. At eight sharp he would ask Louis to grab him a second cup of coffee from the Starbucks down the street. At nine the rest of the interns and accounting would arrive and a fifteen minute meeting would be held to discuss the work day, a conference that Louis was almost always excluded from. This is because Louis only knew what he would be doing until around ten thirty. This was when the second partner, Rodrigo Romero, would arrive and Louis' carefully planed schedule would fall apart. Mr. Romero was not one for doing regular "paper pushing" work. The main reason he had been taken as a partner of the firm was because of his extensive network of political friends, relationships Mr. Johnson had utterly failed to foster. Romero was also the gun fanatic who had insisted on Louis' acceptance into the firm. He didn't stay in the office for very long and when he left, he usually took Louis with him. Where he went changed everyday; some days he would be very into helping the firm, and would drive all over town to meet with political backers. Other times he would spend the day trying to see how many women off the street would give him their phone numbers (the record was currently thirty eight), and the night being spent in bed with said ladies. Other times still he would call for the Ferrari and just drive with absolutely no purpose, stopping at everywhere from the seaside to trash filled alleys. Usually though, some part of the day, whether it be between hookers or political meetings, involved a stop at the shooting range at one of the few country clubs Romeo owned. He was a decent shot, but nowhere on par with Louis, who always out shot him when it came to shotguns.

Louis hated this part of the job. He liked to have everything in his life in order, and babysitting Romero was a guarantee of chaos. Today was no different; Louis had been hoping to convince Romeo to meet with a few congressmen from New York, but when Mr. Romeo strolled in to the office at eleven, it was obvious he was way too pumped with testosterone.

"Louis, Tell my driver to have the limo ready in fifteen minutes."

"Mr. Romeo, you of course mean the Ferrari; we want to send a message of wealth and power to those New Yorkers."

"We're not going to meet the congressmen today Louis."

"But sir, they took time out of their schedule to..."

"No Louis, today we will be solving problems much bigger then where New York's politicals will be getting their campaign money. Today we will answer the ultimate question; can Rodrigo score with more women over the course of one day then legend Wilt Chamberlain twenty two? This question will be answered today. Meet me at the car in fifteen minutes." He strode into his office. Louis groaned and put his head in his hands. Today was going to be one long day.


	3. Chapter 2: The Student

Sunlight came streaming through the single window in the little bedroom. The room was a mess, the sheets falling off the bed, books and papers strewn over the floor. There were also pieces of clothing; a blouse, a sweatshirt, a skirt, a pair of jeans, some lingerie, a pair of boxers. Zoey slowly opened her eyes, he head pounding. With a groan, she slowly sat up and looked around. She thought she was in her dorm, but couldn't tell for sure, as her head wasn't letting her think about much other then the aching pain. Rubbing her eyes, she suddenly noticed a guy snoring on the bed next to her. What was his name? Todd, Travis… Christian maybe? With a sigh, she rolled off the bed and moved toward the coffee maker. It was always like this Sunday morning; a run in with a hot guy the night before, a few drinks, then back to her place for "coffee". Then the morning after, when nothing would feel right till she had her double shot of caffeine. The rattle of the coffee maker intensified the ache in her head making her want to just go back to sleep. There was rustling in the next room, and after a few moments Chris appeared, pulling his shirt up over his head.  
"Hey beautiful. Sleep well?"  
"No thanks to your god awful snoring; you woke me up at least twice."  
"Ya well, take's one to know one. Hey look, what's your phone number? I got to run, have a twelve o'clock class, but I could call you some time this week."  
"How do you have class? It's Sunday."  
"No it's not, look at your clock." Zoey glanced at the clock, and then did a double take.  
"Damn it, it is Monday! I have a Humanities class in ten minutes, shit; I haven't even done the reading!" she rushed back into the bedroom, throwing on the blouse and the skirt. The skirt was stained and the blouse's top button was missing, but she didn't have time to change. Ripping a piece of paper out of her French textbook, she quickly scribbled her phone number on a corner and handed it to Chris, giving him a quick kiss before running out the door.  
She breathlessly arrived at the door of her humanities class five minutes late. She was about to go in when she noticed a sign on the door:  
_All Humanities students should report to Auditorium three for a presentation by Congressman John Retmer at eleven thirty._  
Zoey sighed with relief and began walking down to the Auditorium. A presentation by some congressmen was bound to be boring, but it beat getting a tongue lashing from the prof. she arrived at the auditorium and took a seat next to Jimmy McGinnis, a guy she had been friends with since highschool. Jimmy was one of the few guys felt she was genuine around. He was a quiet guy and was always willing to listen to Zoey talk about any of her problems, whether it be the state of the environment, the poor, her classes or her social life.  
"Hey Zoey, wasn't sure you were going to make it; your usually one of the first ones to class"  
"Ya I know, I just got… caught up with some guy last night and forgot to set my alarm." At this point the humanities prof walked and the room was silenced.  
"Students, today due to the derangement of our schools administration all of the Humanities classes will lose a class to our esteemed congressmen John Retmer. Please keep your mouths shut and your eyes open so that we can get through this presentation as quickly as possible. Congressmen; their all yours."  
A short man in a pinstripe suit bounced onto the stage. Though it was obvious he was barely thirty, he wore embarrassingly large glasses, making his eyes fill up his face.  
"Thank you thank you, thank you, ever so much Proffesor, ever so much, now why I am I here again, why… am I here, let me see…" he glanced around the feverishly for a moment, then stared in deep concentration at the students. Suddenly, he slammed his hand on a table, causing everyone to jump.  
"AH YES! Yes yes yes; children, today I am here to talk to you about a matter of grave importance, yes yes, very grave indeed." He quickly pulled a remote out of his pocket, dimmed the lights, then caused a projection of South America to spring up on a projector.  
"Now children, the issue at hand is occurring right _now_, this very _second_, in the heart of south America." He pointed vaguely to the continent.  
"We have been receiving reports of a virus, a virus _totally_ unknown to man.  
The projector clicked, and blurry images of Brazilians began flashing across the screen.  
Symptoms of the virus are… sketchy, at best. Apparently, all it really does is give you a very bad, permanent case of the flu that has a ten percent chance of…killing you"  
He let forth a nervous giggle.  
"Now of course, usually our government would ignore this problem; after all, what's a few dead brownies to us? However, what has gotten Uncle Sam up in arms is that the virus seems to be spreading north, towards us, and that won't be good for business, of no, the business will be very bad. So naturally we have our top chemists and biologists studying the the thing, but what I thought, see as I happen to be quite the genius, is why _not get young people involved_? Not only would this be a huge opportunity for all you aspiring doctors out there, but it would also show the American people that old Uncle Sam is doing his very _best_, his absolute _greatest_, to make sure our future is safe. So, without further yipper yapper, I would like all who would be interested in this unique opportunity to come forward, and through some sort of raffle one of you will become the representative of Georgetown medicals students!" he beamed at them.  
"Come on come on, don't be shy, this is the experience of a lifetime!"  
The Professor strode on to the stage, a deep scowl on his lips;  
"None of these students give a damn about this biology crap. They're humanities students"  
"Well yes of course, they study humans, what better qualified student would their be to study a human virus?"  
"Biology Students"  
"Oh, oh, OH! You mean, they don't study the human body? What do they do all day?"  
"You have managed to waste a full twenty minutes of my class. Get out now before I hit you over the head with that obnoxious clicker"  
With a huff, the congressman marched out of the room.  
"Now, let us get back to things that are of actual importance to the world."


	4. Chapter 3: The Biker

(Just a few quick things before we get started. My spell checker wasn't working this morning, so while I had it checked online, I can't be certain that I got all of the bugs. Again, please comment, I really like to get feedback from you guys. Finally, I found out that I can change the name of the story, so please post sugestions in your reviews. The best I could think of was "The Four" but that sounds so terribly cliché, please give me better suggestions. That's it, hope you enjoy the new chapter :-)

It was past noon by the time Francis got up, not that he cared; it wasn't like he had anywhere to go. He waded through the sea of beer cans, pizza boxes, and other trash that littered the small kitchen in his trailer. he looked around for a pair of jeans, pulled them on, and began rummaging through the fridge for something with meat on it.  
Francis managed to fit his stereotype as well as Louis didn't fit his. Francis was a biker, born and bred ride the open road. He was an imposing man, over six three and well built The first few years of his life had been spent in a trailer similar to the one was in now, constantly messy and always filled with an odd assortment of big men with tattoos and and handlebar mustaches. Eventually DSS found out he wasn't going to school and threatened foster care if he didn't start. So he was forced through nine miserable years of schooling, and finally quit the at end of his freshmen year of highschool. He got a job as a mechanics assistant, saved his money for a year, and then bought a used Harley.

He then spent the next seven years driving across the country with a wide assortment of biker gangs, most recently Hells Legion. He had been with them for three years, and the group had become much more of a family then his real one had ever been. He was their leader, their alpha dog. But as much as Francis hated to admit it, the biker life of freedom and rebellion was slowly dieing out. His kind of people were seen as scum of the earth, a cancer on American society. The police had been getting more and more pressed to take action until finally, two months previously, they had had a "crackdown" and half the gang had been arrested for trafficking drugs and several other minor charges. Now Francis was lost; the last seven years had been one long party, and now it was all over.  
After sitting around the trailer watching grays anatomy reruns for a few hours Francis decided to hit Bedrock Billiards, hoping to run into a few of the guys. The rusted door of the trailer squealed shut as Francis pulled on his helmet. He turned the key of his motercycle and heard the comforting roar of the Harley. He revved the engine a few times and sped off into the gathering gloom.  
He arrived at Bedrock at around ten, just as the place began to fill circulating through the room once or twice he spotted, Olivia known as Livia to the Legion. Francis sometimes wondered why she had joined them in the first place. While it was obvious that she liked motorcycles, she couldn't care less about the men riding them. Early on, one of the more sex driven guys had started to put the moves on her; he had to be carried to the local ER with his nose and both legs broken. While Francis admired her spirit, he wished she'd spend less time souping up her cycle and more time helping the gang. Never the less they got along well, so he decided to walk to the table where she was sitting and pull up a chair;  
"Livia, how the hell are ya doing? Boy oh boy, do you look good tonight. Sent any guys to the hospital yet?"  
"It's good to see you too Francis; No, haven't killed anyone yet, but I'll be happy to start with you."  
"So Livia, what have you been up to? You know besides the usual beating up on men hobby. I haven't seen you much lately."  
"Well, I haven't seen much of anyone since the gang got broken up, but recently I've been getting interested in world problems; you know global warming, world hunger, world spreading virus's"  
"Virus's? how is that a world issue?"  
"Oh it definitely qualifies. Now that the scare of Avian Bird Flu is over, the government has got people worried about a new one called Lyssawertus virus; you know, the one that is supposedly making all those people in South America go crazy The US is closing all of the southern borders and preventing any shipping from South America to the US."  
"That's bullshit, how are people going to get all the drugs and stuff that come from there?  
"I don't know, but I'll tell you one thing, all the dealers in Asia and Africa are dancing in the streets- the value of most major drugs have doubled."  
"Wow, that's crazy."

They sat in akward silance for a moment, Francis trying to think of something to say. It was getting harder and harder to talk to old gang pals as they drifted father apart.

"so, I went bowling with a couple of the guys this afternoon, you should have seen the killer strike I got on the seventh string…"

Livia sighed and closed her eyes. "I sure hope you aren't trying to pick up the ladies with those terrible topics of conversation."

"Hey, you know as well as I do that I could have any chick here."

Livia giggled. Francis glared at her.

"Oh you don't believe me, do ya ms. Chastity? Well we'll see about that. I can have any of these babes. Pick one, go on pick one."

"Francis don't turn this into a big deal…"

"Ok fine I'll pick one!" Francis jumped up and began sauntering over to one of the girls at the bar. Livia was watching him, smiling, until she realized who Francis was going for. She quickly called out to Francis;

"Francis its ok, you don't have to prove anything, come on back here."  
Francis ignored her and walked up to women.

"Hey there pretty lady. Why is someone as beautiful as you sitting here all alone?"

"Well actually, my boyfriend is around here somewhere"

"Ah well, that just terrible that he is neglecting you like this. Why don't you say we take off and find some where a little more… private?"

The girl smiled at him, and Francis beamed back at her. And little Ms Perfect thought I was didn't have it anymore. Boy she is nothing but jealous! Francis thought. He was about to lead her out of the bar when a huge man, even taller then Francis, blocked their path. As Francis glanced at his tattoos, then stared at the large Serpent that covered the whole left shoulder. It was the mark that many of a rival gang, the Brimstone Cobras, had, and none of them were friendly the Legion.

"What the hell are you doing talking to my girl, you piece of trash?  
"Hey, chill man, lets not start anything. I was just talking to the pretty lady, and she seemed to be pretty lonely, so now were going to get going."

"your not going anywhere you little shit! Who the hell do you thank your messing with? I'm gonna…"

It was then he noticed the word "Hell's Legion" tattooed on Francis's Forearm. An evil grin spread across his face.

"Ah, I see, your one of the leftovers of the Legion. Well let me tell you something buddy- you guys are done. One half of ya are stuck in jail, and the other half just sit on their asses all day. The Cobras, we are still together, still riding the streets. You? Your done. You guys are nothing anymore…"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Francis was boiling. The bar was deathly silent "Don't ever talk about us like that, I will, I will…"

"Do what? You've got no one now, nobody to back you up. Your all alone, you pathetic…AHHH!"

The biker stumbled, looking down at his shoulder. Francis had whipped out a long switch blade and plunged it into his tattoo. With a roar the biker hit Francis in the face, knocking him to the ground. Before Francis could could do anything, the cobra whipped out a gun and pointed it down at him.

"Oh your gonna pay, you little shit. Your gonna pay with your wasted life, cause that's all I can take from you…"

"Hey kid; Drop the gun."

The biker looked around. Sitting in a darkened corner alone was an man in his late fifties, dressed in olive green fatigues. A beret of similar color lay on the table, next to an ashtray and glass of scotch. The old man also had an old colt 1911 sidearm aimed at the cobra.

"Lets just all calm down; son, why don't you take your lady friend there and go ask the owner to call you an ambulance. As for you down there, I would just get up and leave, nice and quietly…"

"Shut up, old man, ain't noone taking orders from you! Why don't you just leave before I shoot you as well?"

"Go on now, put away the gun…"

"Shut up!"

"Come on now, stop this idiocy…"

"SHUT UP!" the crack of the pistol caused everyones ears to ring. Then they all started to panic, ducking down behind any available tables or chairs. The man in the fatigues was on the ground, his breathing barely audible. The Cobra leveled the gun at Francis.

"Now it's time to shut you up"

"Stop it!" Livia had risen to her feet "don't kill him, its not worth it going to jail over…"

"Goddamn it, why do people keep interrupting me! Shut up or your next."

"please don't do this…"

"Ah hell that's it…"

He pointed the gun at her, but just as it was about to go off, a loud bang came from a corner of the room, and a small red dot appeared on the bikers temple. Without a sound, he dropped to the floor. Bill slowly got to his feet, clutching the wound in his side and dropping the smoking pistol.

"Now, can someone please call that ambulance? I don't think he needs it anymore, but I sure as hell do."


	5. Chapter 4: The Veteran

The next morning Bill awoke to a monotonous beeping noise and sterilized lighting. He sat up realizing he must be in a hospital. What was he doing in a hospital again? It suddenly came back to him in a flash of searing pain somewhere in his abdomen- the bar, those two idiots talking big, the explosive burst of pain; and then the cool feeling of the pistol in his hand as raised it up. He was surprised he had been so accurate; the standard issue colts were notoriously inaccurate and Bill hadn't shot a gun for years. Not since Nam…

For Bill, Vietnam had held some of the worst and best times in his life. He had hated it because there was a constant feeling of fear; the Vietcong were better equipped, knew the terrain better, and didn't care if they died. Somehow, it always seemed like the Americans were losing even though the Cong were losing ten times as many people. They were everywhere, no place was safe, and depression was rampant.

And yet… Bill was comfortable, even happy sometimes. It wasn't that he liked the killing… but he was very, very good at it. He was one of the top marines, credited with the fifth highest kill count. He was then given Special Forces training and was sent behind enemy lines more then any other soldier in his division.

Then one mission, one screw up, and it was all over. he was promptly discharged with nothing but the promise of a small pension. Unsure of what to do, he bought a small apartment in the city they let him go; Washington DC. For the next thirty years he went through a variety of jobs, unable to keep any of them for more of a few months. Eventually he just started walking around DC during the day, his mind stuck in the past. His decision to go to the bar had been purely coincidental; the cooler at home was out of scotch so he decided to stop at the Bedrock on his way home.

Young women came in, dressed in a doctor's coat. She projected an aura of utter professionalism, and looked down at bill over sleek glasses.

"Hello, my name is Emma Conway, the physician who took the bullet out of your side."

"You're a doctor?"

Ms. Conway's eyes blazed. "listen old man, I don't know what it was like back in the eighteen hundreds, but nowadays women can do whatever the hell they please. You're lucky I even helped you at all; I can't stand you veterans, leeching off society, living from welfare check to pathetic pension. I make more a week then you do in three months, so just shut up and listen to my diagnosis."

"Um, excuse me? Did I here right?" Emma whirls around to see a young woman dressed in jogging shorts and a Georgetown sweatshirt, standing in the door with steam coming out of her ears.

"Were you just insulting one of our soldiers? A man who no doubt risked his life hundreds of times to protect your country, and this is the way you repay him. Get out. Now."

"Excuse me? Are you a relative or something?"

"Something."

"Well then I'm ever so sorry, but you will just have to wait outside for a little while."

Before Zoey can reply, Emma closes the door with a bang, and turns back to Bill. He is still lying in the bed with an amused look on his face."

"What the hell do you think is so funny?"

"How long have you been working to help people Doctor Conway?"

"five years, since I graduated from med school."

"I expect you must get a lot of unwanted prejudice, being young, and a woman to boot."

"One more word about my sex Mr.… Mr…"

"Everyone has a problem with my last name; just call me Bill. And I don't have any problem with you being a woman Dr. Conway; I respect you for breaking into such a male dominated field."

Emma looks uncertain for a moment, and then quickly hides behind a mask of professionalism. "Thank you for your support Mr… ah Bill. Now concerning your wound; luckily I have had a lot of experience with gunshot wounds and was able to treat yours just fine. While you will have to be confined to a bed for a couple of days, we should have you out of here in about two weeks. Now if you will excuse me I have many other patients to see."

She left, and after a few moments, Zoey quietly stormed in.

"I can't believe that witch, I can get her license for the way she treated you…"

"It's fine, she just has a bit of a feminist edge. It's Zoey, right?

"Oh… yes." Zoey paused awkwardly "I hope you don't mind me coming, I just read about the fight in the paper and thought you might like a visitor."

"I appreciate you coming Zoey, I really do. How's school working out for you?"

"Oh well I guess. I'm a humanities student, though I also take a couple other classes…"

They chatted for another half hour before Zoey had to leave, as she had her eleven thirty Humanities class. With a sigh, Bill leaned back in to the soft pillows of the hospital bed, letting his mind drift. He thought about the bar, the gun. Then before he could stop himself, he was thinking about the last time he had used it…

\/\|/\/

A whisper in his ear; "Bill, get your ass up; it your turn to watch."

He was in the middle of northern Vietnam, in some god-awful tunnel the VC's were using to carry weapons to the front. He had been sent in with three other berets to plant C4 at key points in the tunnel, making it useless. They had been camping in the tunnel for the last twelve hours, waiting for the go-ahead from HQ. Quietly he got to his feet, looking around, not that there was anything to see. It was pitch black inside the tunnel, none of the team risking lights for fear of a VC squad coming through. Bill picked up his rifle, a custom M-16, not the standard issue shit that broke after two weeks of use. For the next two hours he stood crouched in the middle for the tunnel, keeping watch for any sign of incoming VC. At around three in the morning, the radio gave a muted burst of static. Bill bent over and picked it up, whispering into it "HQ this is phantom III, do you copy."

"We read you phantom. Your mission is now a go, repeat you mission is a go, copy?"

"Understood HQ, Phantom out." Bill silently clicked off the radio and roused the other berets. They got into formation and slowly began to move down the tunnel, a single flashlight creating deep shadows off the walls. After about a hundred yards, they stopped, and Carter, their explosives specialist, began rigging C4 to the side. This process was repeated three more times along the wall. As they were about to turn down a second passage, the marksmen, Harry, froze.

"Anyone hear that?"

"What?

"Footsteps."

Everyone strained to listen. Then they heard it, the pattering of what sounded like at least twenty or so people. The Berets tried to duck down a separate tunnel, but found it blocked, they desperately turned, leveling their weapons at the intersection. Suddenly a wave of little children came running through the intersection, suddenly stopping when they saw the marines. Both sides were frozen. Then Marty, their squad leader, slowly stepped forward.

"None of you little SOB's move a muscle, or I'll blow your brains out." He slowly picked up the radio.

"HQ this is Phantom I, we have a problem."

"Go ahead, Phantom I."

"The charges are rigged, we were about to get the hell out of here when we ran into a bunch of baby VC's"

"Children, Phantom I?

"Correct, sir, please advise."

"Are they armed?"

Marty looked them over. "Affirmative sir. They've got a bunch of hand grenades and a few pistols."

"Then they are enemy combatants, Phantom. If we let them go, their just going to blow themselves up one of out guys later. Waste'em."

The radio was silent. Marty stared at the kids for a moment, and then began cocking his rifle. Bill felt a sudden surge of shock and disgust.

"Marty, we can't kill them, their kids, for Christ sake."

"Their just going to kill our guys later. It's my job to stop that from happening."

"Marty, _don't shoot them_." Before he knew what he was doing, bill had his handgun raised and cocked, aimed at Marty. But Harry and Carter were frozen, watching the stand off.

"You point that gun away from me _right now_ Bill or I'll have your ass suspended quicker then you can shoot."

"Your not going to harm any of those kids, those _children_, understand Mart?"

"Shut up, I'm your squad leader; you do whatever the hell I tell you to."

"Not when it involves murdering twenty defenseless children I don't"

"The hell with you then."

Marty turned back to the kids, but before he could raise his rifle, Bill shot him in the arm, forcing him to drop the gun, howling in pain, Marty dove for Bill. Harry and Carter desperately tried to pull the two apart. They struggled for a few seconds, and then Carter was suddenly thrown out of the melee. Marty managed to get up on one knee. In his hand, he held an extra slab of C4 and the detonator.

"Back the fuck away from me, all of you, or we'll all be blown to hell."

They all started slowly backing away from him. Suddenly, he heaved the C4 at Bill. He ducked, but the explosive landed right next to him.

"Damn it!" Suddenly, Carter grabbed the C4 and lunged at Marty just as he hit the detonator. The blast blew apart much of the tunnel, and threw everyone back a few feet. Bill tried to get up but could only manage one knee. The other was filled with bits of rock and steel, blood flowing freely. He saw carter lying a short distance away; Harry and Marty were gone. The only light came from a single lantern, held by a little girl who cautiously approached Bill. She silently putt a hand on his shoulder, then two more came over and slowly helped him to his feet. The pain was excruciating, but he manage to hobble over to Carter, knelling down next to him. Amazingly, his specialized body armor had protected most of his body, but his face was black and charred. Bill weakly tried to lift him, but dropped him almost instantly. Slowly, the crowd of children surrounded him, whispering in Vietnamese. After a few moments of heated discussion, they all surrounded Carter, and, after a few more seconds of coordinating, picked him up and began heaving him down the tunnel. The girl grabbed Bills hand a lightly pulled, and he followed her. After what seemed like years, they spotted a point of light. After a few more minutes for walking, they reached it, and walked out of the tunnels into the morning air. Bill sat on the grass, breathing deeply. The girl came over to him, and with a shy smile pressed something small and metallic into his hand. As he looked down to see it she ran off with a wild yell, bringing the crowd of kids with her. He looked down again. In his palm was a small cord of string attached to one shining bullet.

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The rest of his employment by the us army was brief; a quick court hearing in which he was thanked for saving the life of one Bernard Carter, then summarily discharged.

Author's Update: Hope everyone enjoyed my new installment, please review if you haven't. I have decided to start updating every Friday, so from now on that is when you should expect a new installment from me, though I will probably update quicker it I'm write a whole bunch at once. Thanks again for your comments, I love reading any feedback I get. Finally, for those who are still waiting for the zombie apocalypse to descend, fear not- it's coming.


	6. Chapter 5: Meeting in the Dark

Author's Jabber: So, another Friday, (Ok, Thursday night) another installment in my unbelievably riveting and thrilling literary masterpiece (that's sarcasm, just in case some of you missed it). I know its short and want to apologize ahead of time- this is more of a transition segment than anything else. To make it up to everyone, I will break the one installment a week on Friday rule and be posting my next piece this coming SUNDAY. As always, please review; feedback makes my little heart jump with joy.

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The first hour and a half of Louis's day was business as usual; he categorized the incoming mail by order of importance, sent off a few emails of his own, and began listing prospective lobbyist to visit if Romero would get his act together. He was just about to go out for Robert's second cup of coffee when he heard raised voices in Romero's office. Curious, he looked inside and was shocked to find Romero and Johnson in the middle of a heated discussion. Both men stopped abruptly and looked over at Louis.

"Rodrigo, what are you doing here so early? I wasn't expecting you to show up for another three hours"

"Hi, Louis, I'm not too happy to be here. Bobby here told me he had something _unbelievably_ important to discuss, so I get up, drive _all_ the way over her, just to find out he needs me to go with him to see some congressmen from NY."

Robert turned to Louis; "Louis, I don't have time to explain everything now; suffice it to say, a New York congressman is offering us boatloads of money to cover his ass on a… project he is working on. He is expecting us at his offices in forty minutes, and I'll be damned if we lose the account because one of our partners is too lazy to show up. Get Rodrigo ready to go and have him in the limo in ten minutes."

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The trio arrived at the offices of John Retmer, representative of the people of New York, at eight thirty. After being escorted through a series of halls and offices they were shown into a large conference room, an elegant affair filled with expensive portraits and comfortable chairs. After a few minutes the door burst open, causing Robert, Rodrigo and Louis to jump. In bounced Congressmen Retmer, followed more slowly by a few men in suits and one in uniform. As they took seats Mr. Retmer bounded over to Robert.

"Bobby, pal, I am so excited you could make it, very very excited! And this must be your partner, the esteemed Rodrigo Romero. Romero, that's a Spanish name is it not? Yo hablo espanol?"

Rodrigo grunted in reply.

"Oh that's just great, if you will excuse me, I have to start up this little firecracker! Ta-ta!"

He moved to the head of the conference table, rapping a pointer on the desk.

"Greetings everyone! Greetings and Sal-u-tations! For those of you who don't know them, over there are Rodrigo Romero and Robert Johnson, my two new lawyer people. Its there job to take note of any silly things I say and misconstrue them so much that I cannot be prosecuted! Now, on to the task at hand. As you all know, we are here to discuss Lyssawertus virus, an advanced strain of the flu virus that has spread from South America into the good old US of A, despite our best efforts to keep it out."

He paused, his expression suddenly sober. "I called you all together because of a report that has been passed on to me from a few of my sources of the pentagon. The level of confidentiality associated with it is such that none of the information I pass on can leave this room. If you don't think you can keep you mouth shut, get out now."

No one moved. Mr. Retmer continued:

"The contents were… shocking, to say the least. Late last night, large portions of lower Chile and Argentina went dark; power failed and communications have been minimal. What news authorities did hear suggested riots of enormous scale. They sent forces to investigate, about one hundred troops. The transcripts of their com chatter showed that there were indeed some sort of riots, but that they were only made up of people infected with the virus. One medic compared their behavior to that of rabid dogs, recklessly charging non infected individuals and ripping them to shreds. This behavior has been spreading all morning- the bottom half of Argentina is in total chaos. The scientists and doctors that Uncle Sam government has consulted with have been studying this virus for a little more then a month. Last night, the few patients they had that had been infected for approximately a mouth displayed identical behavior.

The doctors have made several conclusions. They now believe that the virus also contains strays of rabies, symptoms which work on about a one month delay. They also believe that about fifty percent of Americans are currently infected, with that number rising by the day."

The room was deathly silent. After a moment one of the suits quietly asked:

"When do these scientists think that our population is going to become…rabid?"

Retmer replied: "We have, at most, forty to forty eight hours before about twenty-five percent of the population become rabid, probably over the course of a five to ten hour period."

"My god" whispered Robert, "we're done for. There's no way they'll come up with a vaccine or a cure in a week."

"Come on now gentlemen," said Retmer, regaining his bouncy composure. "Why all the glum faces? Our People have deduced that about nineteen out of two fifty Americans have partial immunity, and one very lucky someone out of that happy little group is fully immune! We have a full week to prepare ourselves- we can all build little bunkers in the ground in the ground, stock them up with food, and then just wait for the world to go crazy!"

"But won't that just cause a panic?"

"A panic? What do you mean? Wait- you think the government is going to _tell_ people about this?" he burst out laughing. "No no no- Uncle Sam is looking out for the important people of society first; you know, the president, congressmen, people like those sitting right here. We will inform everyone else after the first wave of rabies symptoms hits."

"But that will cause hundreds of thousands more to become infected- we're just going to sit by and let them lose their minds?"

"As soon as we heard of the impending crisis, the Army Corps of Engineers was sent out. As we speak, they are building safe houses all across the country- concrete rooms that will be stocked with food, weapons, sleeping bags, all sorts of necessary items. Once the strain is active, non-infected will be directed to safe houses while the army takes care of the infected. Once everything is clear, people will simply leave and resume their normal lives. On the whole the plan is sheer brilliance!"

As the discussion continued, Louis sat in his chair, stunned by what he was hearing. It sounded unreal, like some sort of terrible horror flick. The world was hours from going to hell, and the government was just going to stand and watch it burn.


	7. Chapter 6: The Fight, Nightfall

**Authors Jabber: Yes, it's still Sunday! I refuse let the fans down! (I don't want to lose the few that I have). Hope you guys like the new installment, please review if you do; all reviewers receive complimentary emails of thanks and the knowledge that you have bolstered a poor writer's sense of self worth.**

Dusk quietly settled over DC. Zoey was just preparing to head out of her apartment; she had made plans with some cute guy she had met while she was running, and was going to meet up with him at a local club. She had just got to the door when someone suddenly started knocking on it. She opened it, and standing on the doorstep was Jimmy, dressed in what he thought of as "cool"; kakis and a tee-shirt.

"Oh, hi Jimmy, how's it going?"

"I'm doing pretty well; hey listen, I know this is very last minute, but do you think you would be willing to look over my humanities essay? I really need to do well or my parents are going feed me to their dogs."

"Well, I'm just going out to meet up with a guy, get drunk, and probably have hot, animalistic sex, but sure, I can edit it."

Jimmy gave her a confused, nervous look; "well ok, I… I guess I could ask someone else…"

Zoey laughed "No really, I'd be happy to help you. Tell you what, My date isn't till ten; why don't you walk me to the club, I'll buy you a drink, then I'll look your paper over till my date shows up. Deal?"

Jimmy grinned "Ok fine, but nothing for you till your date come; otherwise you won't be editing anything."

They left the apartment and slowly walked to the club, chatting about nothing in particular. Though Zoey didn't notice it, Jimmy didn't stop smiling the whole way. He had been captivated with Zoey ever since high school. Hell, he had worked his ass off just so he could go to the same collage and take the same stupid humanities classes. While he knew she was constantly with other men, he felt safe in the knowledge that he was the only one she knew for more then two weeks. And while Zoey would probably never realize he wished they could be more then friends, he didn't mind; better to be her friend for years then her lover for mere hours.

They arrived at the club, a little jazz hole, at about nine o'clock. Zoey preferred the larger pop clubs, but her date had suggested it and Zoey wasn't one to argue. Besides, there was no way she could have edited Jimmy's paper in the dark and sound loud enough to break glass.

They spent the next hour going over the essay, occasionally diverging and talking about other things. Time wore on, and suddenly it was ten forty-five and Zoey's date still hadn't shown up. There was a break in the conversation, and they sat in silence for a moment.

Jimmy glanced at Zoey, gauging her mood. She kept looking at the entrance, then turning to look at the couples dancing to the soft jazz. After a moment Jimmy mustered up his courage and said:

"I don't suppose you'd like to dance."

Zoey looked at him for a moment, startled.

"With you?"

"No, never mind, I just…"

Sure, I'd like it a lot; it looks like my date stood me up"

"No that's ok; I'm just going to…"

"Come on."

Zoey got up and pulled on Jimmy's arm. Grudgingly he got up and allowed her to pull him on to the dance floor, though secretly he wanted to whoop and high-five everyone in the club. Zoey turned and slowly twined her arms around his neck, leaning her head on his chest. Jimmy hesitantly put his arms around her waist, and ever so gently pulled her closer. They swayed in time with the music, just enjoying each others presence. Jimmy relaxed, putting his hands further around Zoey's waist. He could feel her warmth against his chest, and breathed in the sweet smell of her shampoo.

"I like the smell of your hair."

He heard a giggle come from somewhere on his chest, and the beautiful arms gave him a cuddly squeeze.

"What?" He asked, afraid he had said something wrong.

"Oh nothing; its just that all the other guys I have danced with recently have said far dirtier things while we dance."

"I hope I didn't disappoint."

"No, I find it refreshing; I wish more guys were like you."

"Hey. Zoey"

Zoey unwrapped herself from Jimmy and turned to find a tall jock with a cocky smile standing behind her.

"Hey babe, sorry I'm late, had a few things to take care of."

"Babe?" Jimmy asked condescendingly.

The new guy ignored him: "so Zoey, you want to ditch your pimple over there and grind something a little more… manly?"

Zoey's eyes flashed. "First off- what was your name? Johnny? Listen Johnny, anyone who stands me up isn't going to be getting any from me; secondly, that pimple over there is my pimple, and since he was here when you weren't, you're just going to have to find some other girl to hump."

Johnny glowered at her: "Listen, you little bitch, no one turns me down."

Jimmy gave him a little smile "well, it looks like someone is right now."

"Shut up, pimple, before I knock your teeth out." He turned to Zoey. "You're coming with me."

Before she could move Johnny grabbed her and pulled her through a service entrance. Jimmy ran after them, determined to take the guy on. He probably would get crushed, but no one was going to take away Zoey from him without a fight. The service door led to a dark alley that stank of trash. Zoey was struggling with Johnny, who was trying to pull her toward a nearby car. Suddenly Zoey managed to get a hand free, and Johnny howled as she socked him in the face. The two other guys, probably Johnny's friends, jumped out of the car grabbed her arms, pinning her against the wall. Grinning through the blood flowing from his nose, Johnny slowly moved toward Zoey's struggling form.

"Good. I like my women to have spirit; it makes taming them so much more- AHHH!"

He was thrown to the ground as Jimmy slammed his elbow into his back. Jimmy started kicking him in the side, shouting.

"Who's the pimple now? I'm going to beat the crap out of you!"

He was suddenly lifted off his feet by the blow from one of Johnny's friends. He crashed into a trash bag and lay motionless on the pavement. Johnny slowly got to his feet, panting. He turned again to Zoey, who stared at him with defiance, still struggling against the arms of the other guy. He grabbed her around the waist, kissing her hard, ignoring her teeth that gnawed at his face.

"I agree with you boyfriend; you do smell nice."

As he began to move his hands over her she screamed, only to be shut up by the sound of a gun clicking. Johnny grinned a sick grin, pointing the gun at her.

"Your mine" he whispered.

Just as Johnny moved to the buttons of her blouse the ally was suddenly bathed in a harsh light.

The roar of two motorcycles echoed off the walls of the small ally, deafening everyone. Johnny stopped playing with Zoey's blouse, turning to the two bikers who had pulled up. The ally was suddenly deathly silent as the two got off their motorcycles. One was a woman, tall for her gender, with long, blond, highlighted hair. She wore a jacket and ripped jeans covered with peace symbols. The other has big man, over six four, with huge forearms that were covered in tattoos. His black vest was blank save for a large skull on the back, and his short black hair narrowed to a widow's peak. He cradled a huge auto shotgun in his arms, pointing it squarely at Johnny's chest

"Hey ladies," said Francis, with a malevolent grin on his face. "Did you know that there are a lot of things in this world I hate? Yes sir, I hate the cops, the army, lawyers, doctors, lots of stuff. But I'll tell ya what I hate above all else" He said, his smile changing suddenly to deep scowl. "I hate scum of the earth rapists like yourselves; why, I would trade killing all the other stuff I hate for an opportunity to watch guys like you die in a pit.

"Hey Francis." said Livia.

"What is it, dearest Livia?" said Francis.

"While there appears to be no pit around, it looks like I can at least help you realize half of your dream" said Livia, pumping her own shotgun.

Johnny turned to them, his face contorted with rage

"Who the hell do you guys think you are? I'm going to blow you away!"

Just as he fired off one round from his pistol, both Livia and Francis unload ten shotgun rounds each into Johnny, literally blowing him away. Johnny's friends bolted down the street, one of them screaming murder and the other hurriedly dialing nine one one on his cell. Livia grabbed her arm, breathing hard for a moment a blood dripped out of a small wound. Francis quickly checked it.

"You all right?"

"Ya I'm fine, he just nicked me." Livia quickly ripped off a small patch of fabric that was hanging off jeans and tied a makeshift bandage; then she went over to Jimmy and began reviving him as Francis helped Zoey up. The wail of sirens began and steadily grew louder.

"You all right kid?" Francis asked, brushing Zoey off and picking her up.

"Ya, my god, thanks for saving me, that piece of shit would have screwed me if you guys hadn't come along. Hell, you should be the cops around here."

Francis chuckled. "Actually, I'm out of prison on bail for assault, but if those sirens are for me it won't be that way for long."

Livia finally managed to get Jimmy awake.

"I assume you weren't with that trash we just got rid of."

"No, I was trying to get them off of her."

Livia smiled "Well that was very brave of you; most guys wouldn't have had the balls. Good thing we showed up though, it was extremely satisfying to blow apart that guy."

Four police cars suddenly crowded at both entrances to the ally, policemen shouting and leveling guns at Livia and Francis. They both placed their shotguns on the ground and allowed the cops to handcuff them and put them in squad cars. The two cars moved off into the night as the remaining police began cleaning the scene and escorting Zoey and Jimmy into another squad car.

As the squad car pulled on to the highway, Zoey turned to Jimmy and planted a small kiss on his cheek.

"You are so much more then I ever give you credit for." She whispered in his ear.

"You stand by me even as I screw around with other guys. All the men I've been hooking up with, they don't care about me, they don't even know who I am. You are the one constant, the rock I can always lean on."

She leaned back into his chest, and he put his arms around her. As he leaned in kiss her the squawk of the car radio startled him.

"_All units, I repeat all units, complete any critical tasks then precede immediately to The Mall. A large riot is quickly shaping up and growing violent…"_

The bulletin was quickly interrupted by another:

"_To all available units, backup requested on thirty-six and Broadway, a small riot is in progress…"_

"_Can someone please respond? I have several assailants mauling pedestrians, they are not responding to verbal commands, bring backup."_

"_Someone help! I've got a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty people here just swarming over people and taking them apart. They all look really sick; there faces are all white and sallow…"_

"_The eyes! The eyes! All of their eyes are blank! They've all gone crazy!"_

"_HQ this is patrol car fifty-eight, were going to need a swat team to get these people under control…"_

"_Screw swat! We need the god dam national guard!"_

"What the hell is going on?" muttered one of the policemen in the car, turning off the radio. "Sounds like something crazy is going down."

Hey what's that up ahead?" said the second policemen.

The highway was seemingly empty in front of them. Suddenly then there was a distant rumble that grew steadily louder. A great dark mass was suddenly visible, charging recklessly towards their car. As it moved beneath streetlights, the mass would temporarily take form, only to be swallowed up by the darkness between one streetlight and the next. As it got closer, the occupants of the squad car suddenly realized that it was a gigantic mob of people, all howling and screeching. There skin was all a sickly gray, their faces filled with an unholy malevolence. Panicking, the cop behind the wheel threw the car into reverse and hit the gas. The car skidded to the left and right, then plunged off the side of the road. The last thing Zoey heard was the seemingly distant yell of Jimmy calling her name, and then everything suddenly went black.

**Don't forget to review! And for those who have read everything so far: Your reading of the boring chapters has officially come to a close- **_**The Apocalypse is here. **_


	8. UPDATE

**Attention All Readers: As of Saturday, March 14, 2009, this story will lose the title "The Four Mortals" and take on the new name "The Survivor Chronicles- Part I: Nightfall". This is a decision based on two factors; first- I can't stand the current title, and second- I have decided that my plans for this story call for it to be split into three novels, so from Saturday onward, look for the new title when you want to read the best story on (Lol). This update will be taken down once the name changes.**


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